


New Perspective

by Marialances



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Knotting, M/M, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Pining Stiles Stilinski, Rimming, Sex in Beta Form(s), Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 19:51:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13724778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marialances/pseuds/Marialances
Summary: It's Malia and Scott's wedding party. Stiles wants a nice last memory of Derek to go with as he's about to leave Beacon Hills for good. He actually gets more than he ever hoped for. ;)





	New Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how this actually turned out, but I decided to post it anyway. Hope you find it entertaining. -ML

The air was filled with all the scents belonging to a crowded nightclub; sweat, alcohol, perfumes, vomit, tobacco and stained furniture - all that shit, which, as Stiles swiftly zig-zagged through the mass of people, thought must be driving all his werewolf friends insane, considering their delicate noses. Except, for some reason, it appeared not to, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. 

It was Scott and Malia's wedding party, the official ceremonies having ended already several hours ago, and now was the time for the evening's last dances. Stiles pulled his cell out and checked the time; 2:17 am and he was surprised to find himself relatively sober, still. Of course, he'd have to get up early the next morning for his flight back to San Diego where he currently worked, but he'd still consumed a fair amount of punch, and would have actually wanted a bit of that comforting dizziness a good drunken state always brought along. No such luck, though, not for him; his Spark must be protecting him from an overdose in some curious spark-ish way; something he'd noticed happening a few times prior, but hadn't looked into yet. 

Stiles looked around the magnificent nightclub, still a little at awe at the high roof, the decorative columns, the massive disco-balls as well as the chandeliers. Peter had gone just slightly overboard with his daughter's wedding arrangements, and had rented the best premises of Grand Hotel Gemini for their party. Of course, the ceremonies had been held in the festive ballrooms and the roof garden on the top floor, but it was natural the party continued downstairs in this nightclub that was the most posh one in the entire city of Beacon Hills. And also open for outsiders, as it appeared there were nearly everybody from their high-school years attending, mixing beautifully together with Scott's mother with Christ Argent, the entire Hale family, Scott's uncles and aunts and other relatives, all Scott's pack members and friends, Malia's step-dad, and of course, Stiles' own dad, who was currently off-duty and trying to escape the advances of Coach Finstock, who'd had no problems getting drunk like usual and who had somehow forgotten he was actually supposed to be straight. 

Stiles chuckled. It had turned into a real Lydia Martin Birthday Party, only tenfold in its craziness.

The blaring music turned into soft notes as the slow dances for the evening - morning? - began. Stiles hurried along, his target clear, leaning against a wall in the shadows. His heartrate quickened a bit as he took in Derek Hale's handsome figure in a suit, but as he'd been dancing the past thirty minutes or so, he hoped to blame it on that, should Derek notice it. Stiles had to get there quickly, before all the females in the room, who had all been giving predatory glances at the delectable man the entire evening, could locate him. 

Stiles knew he was walking on thin ice, that he was acting bat-shit-crazy, and that he couldn't even blame alcohol for what he was about to do, but he was still going to do it. This was practically his last chance. And even if he'd get his throat ripped out with Derek's pearly bunny-teeth, he had decided he would do this. He was tired of all the 'what-ifs' keeping him wake at nights, ever since he'd parted ways with Derek since their debatable reunion in North Carolina three years back, after a heated SWAT attack, after which Derek had bunked with Stiles for a couple of weeks in his small flat in Quantico before they had both returned to help Scott in Beacon Hills. This short period of time having spent together, however, had made Stiles realize he had a serious crush on the Alpha werewolf. 

Stiles reached Derek and unceremoniously stumbled with his feet so that the other man was forced to grab his shoulder, in order to stop them from colliding. Derek looked at him quizzically, thick eyebrows oh-so-very expressive, and his eyes were glinting in the disco lights with amusement. Stiles straightened up and tried to collect himself, but knew he could spend ages in worrying how he looked and still wouldn't made any better impression on Derek. He was a klutz, even though his physique had improved in the FBI training, and Derek would only see him as the idiot ADHD spazz he'd known during over the six years they had been acquainted. So, no effort needed, it would just be overlooked, anyway.

”Dance with me.” Stiles simply breathed out, looking into Derek's mesmerizing eyes, studying as the other's expression turned utterly surprised. Derek leaned a bit closer - making Stiles inhale - and looked over his shoulder at the dancing pairs. Then he returned his enigmatic eyes back at Stiles again. Eric Clapton was singing Wonderful Tonight. 

”Seriously?” he asked, with a little frown, tugging his hands defensively into the pockets of hiss dress pants.

”I know, dude,” Stiles hastened to say, already expecting the denial that would soon come. He gave the werewolf a timid little, lopsided smile. ”Just humor me this once?”

Derek opened and closed his mouth, obviously not sure what to say. He looked at the dancers again, all of them practically glued to each other, and his eyebrows knitted together even more. Stiles internally grimaced; he knew this had been a long shot, but he was glad he had tried nonetheless. Giving up without a fight, seeing Derek's confused expression, he clapped the taller man on the shoulder and grinned at him in silent apology. 

”It’s okay. Was worth the try, though," he sighed, never dropping his smile. "Gonna call it a night, I guess. Early flight tomorrow and all.” He gave Derek’s shoulder a final squeeze, taking in all of the man's gorgeous magnificence to be burned into his mind's eye for the following eternity. ”I’ll... see you around, Der. Maybe. Some day."

He retreated quickly, feeling suddenly very tired and miserable, and pushed his way through the dancers, barely avoiding the groping hands of a fifty-something lady who was introduced earlier as Scott’s godmother. He didn't want Derek noticing his heart's affliction. On his way out, he located Scott and Malia, foreheads pressed together, bodies in a loving embrace, and felt pure happiness for his best friend and his ex. Too bad none of Stiles’ own relationships had ever developed this far. Then again, considering his occupation, maybe it was for the best; he had recently been assigned to the FBI San Diego unit and the job included lots of travelling and maybe he would even have to go undercover. His dad was supremely proud, and so were all his friends; but Stiles was in no actual position to pursue a long-lasting relationship, not with any girl, and certainly not with Derek Hale. From the latter, he'd just wanted a nice memory to go with, to keep him company on solitary nights as he played with himself, wanting to remember the heat of Derek's body, and his tantalizing scent. 

Stiles passed Cora and Peter chatting at the bar counter, probably catching up on some lost Hale family time. He saw Jackson and Ethan making out in an alcove, half covered by a velvety curtain, and Lydia watching them with avid curiosity from a few feet away, lasciviously trailing the rim of his Martini with her tongue. He saw his dad had finally escaped coach Finstock, and was now in the dominant care of Lydia's mother, looking just as obedient and starving for recognition as the young cop dogs back at the station. Scott's mother and Chris Argent were sitting together at a table, fingers entwined, completely engrossed with one another. 

Shaking his head, Stiles reached the bright, outrageously posh lobby and the elevators. He pressed the button, realizing his hand was shaking. His head felt heavy; he was actually tired as hell and he was beginning to curse his idiocy of asking Derek for a dance. Not that he would ever have to face the werewolf again; he would not be coming back to Beacon Hills, except maybe for some holidays, and Derek sure as hell wasn’t included in his holidays, shame as it was. It would only be a few beers with his dad, and some more with Scott, a couple of times a year. And that would be just fine. Just perfectly fine. 

The elevator binged upon its arrival and Stiles stepped into the box of harsh lights and polished mirrors. He looked like hell - eyes reddish from being awake from 5 a.m., hair messy where he had raked his fingers through it multiple times during the evening, and his tie was hanging loosely open. No wonder Derek hadn’t given him a second glance, except maybe one laced with pity. Even if the man had been gay or bi - which he certainly wasn’t, counting his record with ladies - he would have totally shunned a bum like him. Okay, so maybe he should have put at least a little more effort into looking presentable. Just, you know, not to leave this kind of last image of himself for Derek to contemplate.

”And the wonder of it all... Is that you just don't realize how much I love you...” he hummed the lyrics of the song that had probably already come to an end downstairs. ”Not that he’d care, even if he did,” he gave a dry laugh, for the first time feeling the heavy feeling in his chest that indicated he was actually about to cry. Which he would not, because he really had no valid reason to. He was just being stupid. He’d long ago learned that wallowing in self-pity never led to anything except increased misery. Swallowing a lump that had formed in his throat, he fished the key card to his room from his back pocket and exited the elevator with a long sigh. 

When back in his room, he didn’t bother with the lights. He kicked his shoes off, and threw his socks, his tie and his crumbled dress shirt onto the overstuffed armchair standing in the corner, reveling with the feeling of fresh air on his heated skin. The carpet felt soft under his bare feet, giving some comfort. He opened his belt and let it slide onto the floor. Opening the button of his trousers, he walked closer to the wall-to-wall glass window and let his eyes roam over the city that was bathing in lights despite the darkness of the night. 

Less than a week to the next full moon. Not that he would be here for it, or watch his friends struggle through it; they had all long ago grown fully competent to control themselves though their shift. In fact, the pack was fully competent in everything these days; a solid, functional entity, despite having two Alphas - Scott the leading one, and Derek, of his own volition, the supporting one. Stiles’ physical presence here at Beacon Hills had not been needed for a long time. He still belonged to the pack, he guessed; and he liked to consult with Deaton on occasion, about his Spark, and solve various mysteries for Scott, whenever trouble emerged. But he could do all of that online or over the phone.

It was now over half past two in the morning. His suitcase was almost just as packed as it had been when he had checked in; it's not like he'd even packed much, just the suit, more or less. In about seven more hours, he'd be on his flight back to San Diego. In his wildest dreams, when he’d humored himself with imagining the events of this evening in advance, he'd seen himself in Derek’s arms on the dance floor, bodies entwined, kissing the werewolf like his life depended on it. And the dream-Derek had responded so beautifully, ravaging his mouth with passion and placing his hands firmly on his ass. 

Stiles gave his faint reflection in the window a sad smile, before turning back to face the dark room. 

Well. A man could dream. 

There was a knock on the door that jerked him from his thoughts. He frowned; Scott was the only person who knew his room number, and he sure as hell shouldn’t be here right now. He should spending quality time with his fresh wife. Had something happened? Worried, Stiles rushed to open the door - and was stunned to see Derek standing behind it. In fact, he was so surprised he could do nothing but gape in total confusion. 

”You left before I could answer,” the man frowned at him, his pale green eyes accusing under the heavy dark eyebrows. ”That wasn’t very polite.”

Gathering his wits, Stiles shook his head and gave a little laugh, leaning on the door frame. ”I’m sorry, dude," he grinned. "Just thought I’d make it easier for you to say ’no’, you know, if I took the hint without you actually having to say it.”

Derek looked at him oddly and crossed his arms. Damn, but he looked good in a suit. So sexy. 

”Actually, I would've agreed.” 

Stiles blinked. And then blinked again. ”Uh... what?” he managed to blurt out. 

”I would've agreed,” Derek repeated, his expression unreadable. ”I just wasn’t sure if you were joking.”

Stiles saw Derek’s eyes raking over his body and he suddenly realized he was, in fact, loitering in the doorway half naked, the waistband of his boxers visible. Embarrassed, he took a step back in the shadows of his room and looked down at his feet. ”Um, well, I... I wasn’t joking,” he admitted. ”Look... I’m probably not gonna see you again. So, I just wanted, like, a nice memory of you to go with. Or something.”

Stiles felt like a blabbering teenager. This scenario had never happened in any of the various fantasies he’d gone though in his mind’s eye; they had all involved more action, not talking. He glanced up at Derek again, and the werewolf was clearly trying not to laugh at him, eyes full of mirth and mouth twitching. Stiles rolled his eyes, sighed and smiled. ”I’m glad you would’ve agreed. It’s nice to know. Thanks, man.”

”Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

”Uh... I didn’t know you wanted me to?”

”Thought you just said you wanted a nice memory of me to go with?”

"Well, yeah, but -"

Derek briskly invited himself in, walking past Stiles into the room. Stiles gaped after him and slowly closed the door. He leaned his back against it as it clicked, marveling the sight that was Derek Hale in a suit, standing there in front of him, illuminated only by the city lights flooding in from the window. It had taken Stiles a while to understand the depth of his own feelings towards the man. Granted, he had always admired him, from the first page of their acquaintance; but only since the happenings and the aftermath in North Carolina, where they had been reunited after two years, he had realized he actually felt very deeply for Derek. Which, yeah. Dangerous. For his mental health.

”It’s a nice room,” Derek commented, turning about. ”I see you’ve already packed.”

”Wasn’t lying about the early flight.”

”San Diego?” 

”For now, yeah.”

Derek trailed his fingers along his stubble as he stared at Stiles. Then he shook off his tuxedo coat and threw it on the same armchair already occupied with Stiles’ abandoned clothing. "It's not that far away, is it?"

Stiles followed where his necktie soon joined the pile, feeling utterly nervous. "N-no, about one hour by plane."

"By when do you need to be at the airport?"

"8:30 latest. Takes off 9.35."

"Your ticket refundable?"

"Erm... I don't think so?"

Derek seemed to digest this information, and then he held out his hand. ”Come here then." 

Stiles swallowed and worried his lower lip between his teeth. He slowly forced himself to walk closer to the other man, his heart beating so loudly Derek was sure to hear it. As soon as he was within reach, Derek grabbed his arm and pulled him close. 

”There’s no music but we could still dance,” Derek muttered in his ear, voice dark honey, lips brushing the lobe. ”Or we could skip straight to where you are kissing me, and I’m groping your perky little ass.”

Stiles inhaled, eyes wide, and stared at Derek whose face was so close their noses were nearly touching. He felt his blood rush down, and he was instantly rock hard. He tried to form some coherent answer, but as he was half convinced he was dreaming, he came up with nothing. Derek’s eyes were searching his with intensity, flashing quickly red before returning to normal. His stubble brushed against Stiles’ jaw when he gently leaned closer again.  
”Bring it on, Stilinski,” he whispered. “I can smell it on you. Your... want.”

Stiles realized his hands were fisted tightly in the folds of Derek’s dress shirt. Taking a calming breath, he brought them up to the man’s chest and slowly slid them down, feeling the strong pectorals and abdominals underneath the white silk. He tilted his head only to find Derek’s lips waiting for him, and threw his caution to hell; he would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn’t now seize this crazy moment. He didn’t know what had gone into Derek; werewolves couldn’t get drunk, so alcohol wasn’t the reason; but Stiles decided he would rather find out later than right now. 

Derek’s lips felt hot against his when he closed the small distance between them. It was a surprisingly wonderful kiss; strong and demanding but also welcoming and gentle; Stiles was the instigator, but Derek soon took dominance. Soon, Derek’s hands found his ass and took it into a firm grasp, bringing their hips together. Stiles wasn’t sure if he’d ever shared a more exciting moment with anyone; he felt hot all over and his cock was twitching with every smooth movement of Derek's skilled tongue inside his mouth.

Suddenly the werewolf's demanding, long fingers slipped under his trousers, meeting bare skin, and curving deep into the crevice between his cheeks, finding his wanton hole and spreading it open. Stiles practically saw stars as he closed his eyes. Their kiss deepened, turning more hungry, and Stiles was soon whimpering with need. They were proceeding way too fucking fast, and he was soaring, anchorless, but he couldn't find the willpower to stop. 

Derek could, though. 

Derek pulled away, panting, and took a step back, shaking a little. Stiles experienced the curious feeling where he was both grateful and happy he’d been allowed to have this magical moment with this gorgeous man in the first place, but where his heart was simultaneously shattering in thousands of pieces with the pain of having to finally let his dreams go. This was not Derek's true nature; this was not what Derek truly wanted. Derek wasn't into guys. He had probably just planned to accommodate Stiles' ridiculous whim about dancing, and things had gotten accidentally out of hand. Hell, it would have been a miracle if a hyperactive spazz like Stiles had been able to catch someone like Derek Hale in his bed, even for one night. Stiles wasn't that delusional.

”T-thanks,” he found his voice and crossed his forearms in rising embarrassment and agitation. He couldn't meet the other's eyes. He knew he was flushed, and smelled totally ready-to-go, and he tried his best to both calm down and maintain what little would be soon left of his dignity. ”Couldn’t have asked for a better memory to go with. Really. That was... whoa. More than I expected. Really.”

"You think we're done?" Derek's voice sounded gruff.

"Well... uh..." Stiles looked at the man, dazed. He realized the werewolf's canines had dropped out at some point. "A-aren't we?"

"Not nearly." Derek briskly lifted Stiles up bridal-style, making him squeak in protest. 

”What the hell, dude! Put me down! Right now!” he bristled, hammering Derek's back with his fist.

”Why? It’s not like I haven’t carried you before," Derek smoothly pointed out and started towards the still un-opened queen-sized bed, ignoring all protests.

”That! That was over three years ago! And! I couldn’t walk!”

”I promise you; Stiles…” Derek hummed. “After we're done, you won’t be able to walk.”

Stiles opened his mouth in outrage - and then closed it as his face flushed red, his fuzzy brain finally catching the dirty implication. Derek grinned and dropped him down on the bedcover. "Feet up."

It wasn't like Stiles could obey; he was too stunned. So he watched as Derek, grumbling, grabbed both his trousers and boxers and pulled them off, dropping them on the floor. Stiles realized he was now completely naked, whereas Derek was still dressed. He wasn't given much time to contemplate this fact, though, before Derek crawled on top of him and pulled him into another kiss. The werewolf dragged his hands against Stiles' sensitive and heated skin, the feel of his claws making him moan in his hungry mouth. This time, though, Stiles found the voice of reason and pulled at Derek’s hair, forcing him to stop the horny onslaught. 

”Der- Derek! Not that I don’t enjoy this like fuck, but um... do you really know what you’re doing?” he panted, squirming a bit as the other man's hand found his straining hard-on. ”I mean, you’re not, like, going to regret this later are you? Considering, ah!!” Derek licked his neck, and Stiles pulled at his hair again, forcing the red eyes meet his own, ”Considering,” he repeated, ”you’re not exactly into guys, normally.”

Derek licked his lips, and then his tongue trailed one of his sharp canines, making Stiles feel weak with lust. ”I’m into you, now.”

”Not buying that crap, dude," Stiles grabbed Derek's wrist and tried to stop the hand that was aiming to stroke his already leaking dick. "However, if you want to experiment, I’m willing. Just don’t go all werewolf on me afterwards, okay? No ripping my throat out with your teeth or anything like that, in case you freak out, right?”

”Shut up, idiot.” Derek rolled his eyes and straightened to stand on his knees. ”I’ve been told just recently,” he said while taking off his tailored dress shirt and tossing it carelessly over his shoulder on the floor, ”I could benefit from a total change of perspective.” 

Stiles admired Derek’s flawless body that was now so blatantly displayed in front of his greedy eyes. And greedy he indeed was. The man’s sheer gorgeousness nearly managed to distract him from the subject at hand, and he found himself trailing his fingers along the track of hair disappearing into Derek’s pants, before he managed to shake himself from the trance. 

”Uhh, what?” he shook his head. ”Change of... perspective?”

”Mmm,” Derek smirked, and slowly opened his belt while looking hungrily down at Stiles. ”Yeah. Cora says I need a new perspective to relationships. And you, Stilinski, happen to be just perfect for one.”

”Oh. Okay, then. I’m... I'm a perspective,” he frowned while tugging down Derek’s pants, trying to free the werewolf’s - Stiles’ mouth went dry at the bulge - massive cock. He seriously wouldn’t be able to walk afterwards. But right now, he couldn’t care less. He was finally Derek’s something. That was infinitely better than his previous nothing. A perspective, huh?

Derek’s cock chose that moment to spring out and, with an admiring sigh, Stiles demandingly pushed Derek off the bed, back to a standing position, and took the heavy junk in his mouth. He knew he couldn’t possibly take it all in without dislocating his jaws, but he did his best nonetheless, compensating by fondling the base with one hand and Derek’s sac with the other. To his immense satisfaction, Derek was making extremely pleased sounds, smoothing Stiles’ neck and hair, touching him gently where he could best reach. 

”Ah... fuck, Stiles...” he was half whispering, half growling. "That's... that's very nice. Ah… v-very nice."

Stiles doubled his efforts, licking and sucking, spreading saliva all over the thick head and teasing the small slit with the tip of his tongue. This might be the first and the last time he got to taste Derek’s cock, so he was sure to make the experience memorable - in the best sense - for them both. Derek was still wearing his dress pants, which was a total turn-on for Stiles. When he finally managed to swallow the dick so far it hit the back of his throat, he heard Derek cursing.

”Sweet baby mother of... fuck!” the werewolf's voice was heavy and raspy, and he was breathing rapidly. Glancing up, Stiles saw the man’s red eyes glowing with passion before he leaned his head back and closed them. He also felt the man’s claws lengthen again where Derek was raking his fingers through his hair. Derek was clearly trying to keep his wolf at bay, which oddly made Stiles even more aroused than he already was. He’d never entertained the idea of fucking a halfway turned werewolf, but the idea struck him now; and, despite it would be dangerous and insane, he couldn’t immediately discard it, as his dick thought it was the best fantasy Stiles had ever made up. He didn’t tell that to Derek, though; despite his dick’s opinion, he wasn’t suicidal. 

Derek growled - and Stiles found himself suddenly on his stomach on the mattress, Derek's body on top of him, his monstrous cock resting between his thighs. 

”I need to taste you. Now,” the man breathed in his ear, before sliding down his body. Stiles soon felt a long, wet tongue pushing inside his anus, breaching in without warning. He tensed and let out a surprised little yelp; but the tongue was so strong and determined, and Derek’s clawed hands were holding his hips so tightly the grip felt just wonderfully painful, that Stiles could soon only grasp the sheets and writhe in ecstatic pleasure. Derek licked and slurped and ate him with such gusto that Stiles was sure he'd come all over the bedcover without even being touched.

Stiles was making noises he would be embarrassed about later, and presented his ass for Derek like a slut. Derek's teeth were soon on his ass cheek, nibbling, and Stiles could hear him pushing his pants down. "Shit, Stiles..." he panted, "I’m sorry, alright. I'm so sorry. Didn’t mean this to happen. It’s never happened before... fuck...”

Before Stiles could fully comprehend what Derek was talking about, he felt the Derek's cock ramming inside his ass, right down to the hilt with one, smooth slide, spreading him wide and making him cry out with the stinging pain. Derek's warm hand was on the small of his back then, drawing the pain away and making Stiles feel light-headed with the pleasant feeling it left behind. Dazed, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Derek was now in his full beta-shift form, all hairy and grotesque and, fuck, hot as hell. The wolf met Stiles' eyes and the intensity of his gaze made Stiles weak from both inside as well as outside. His Spark flared, making him shudder, and within moments, he relaxed in total submission, his mind escaping into a head-space where he saw and heard and felt no-one and nothing else except this powerful Alpha werewolf.

"No way," Derek grunted, and jerked his hips, making Stiles gasp. "You're... no way."

"Please," Stiles whispered, his voice laced with pure want and almost despair, "please... fuck me hard... breed me..."

"...oh shit."

And Derek did. Oh, yes, he did. He fucked Stiles like there was no tomorrow, for at least half an hour, possibly even longer. He fucked him deep and hard with every rapid thrust, and Stiles was sure he made such loud and wanton noises the other hotel guests would be sure to complain. But he didn't care. He was in a constant state of just-about-to-cum, the tip of Derek's huge cock brushing his prostrate with every single thrust, feeling light-headed and euphoric, his Spark soaring through his veins like liquid endorphin every time Derek kissed him, nibbled him, or gave out random endearments. Stiles had never felt anything like this; the pleasure was so intense he wasn't even sure he was wide awake or dreaming. Derek's tongue trailed wet paths on his back, his claws pressing hard into his skin, his groans of pleasure mixing with those of Stiles. And then Derek stroked him, hot fingers wrapping around his dick, and he was clenching around the werewolf's thick rod, coming so hard the world blackened for a moment. 

When he came to, his heartbeat slowing and his senses returning, he realized Derek was still deep inside him, although they had both collapsed in a heap on the bed. He moved his hips a bit, wanting to tell the other man it would be okay for him to continue and get off, but the feeling of something extra-large and slightly painful in his ass made him gasp in confusion. 

"Derek?"

The older man was holding him close, keeping him warm, and nuzzling the back of his neck, scattering little nibbles and licks all over his skin. Stiles shivered, feeling oddly contented instead of freaked out; he realized Derek was still in his beta-shift. He shifted again, trying to turn, and Derek growled in warning.

"Ooo-kay, dude," Stiles sighed and reached back and his hand came in contact with Derek's ass cheek. He frowned as he felt the slight pulsing of Derek's cock inside him. It seemed to go on and on. Vaguely, he remembered something Scott, as a vet, had told him about Canidae and knotting. This situation kind of fit the description.

"Whatever," he finally decided and closed his eyes. Derek continued to scent and pet him, and he felt utterly drowsy. Derek's warmth engulfed him, and he fell asleep, a smile on his lips. 

This was a fucking fantastic memory to go with.

**

In the morning, when the alarm woke Stiles up at 7.00 am, Derek was gone. Stiles might have thought he'd been dreaming it all, except when he sat up, a wet trail of thick sperm spilled out of his anus and he felt his entire backside throb with dull pain.

"Holy hell," he mumbled, amazed. 

A wide grin enlightened his face, and he happily dragged himself into the shower. He'd had sex with Derek! He couldn't believe it. He'd lock this memory in his heart and cherish it forever. He dully realized he was now even more spoilt for others than he'd been before, but he didn't mind. Derek had been everything he had ever dreamed of, and more. He had never in his life come so hard, and probably never would. He had never expected anything like this to happen; had never expected to get so lucky. And, as pathetic as it might be, considering this was just a one-off, he was in seventh heaven with happiness nonetheless. 

Stepping out of the shower, he realized he could still feel the ghost of Derek's dick ramming into him. As he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, he saw his skin carrying various marks the wolf had left on him: scratches here and there, bruises and claw-marks on his hips, teeth marks on his shoulders and hickeys all over his body, especially his neck. Derek hadn't bitten or clawed him deep enough to make him turn, but forcibly enough to clearly mark him, and Stiles basked in this knowledge of having been able to drive the Alpha wolf so crazy. 

"I hope he liked this new perspective," he smirked, and dried himself off. 

Stiles dressed up quickly, went downstairs for breakfast, and ordered a cab to take him to the airport. His step was light all the way, and he smiled at everyone. It wasn't until he sat down in his seat on the plane when his heart grew heavy and he felt the annoying tears dwell in his eyes. He looked out of the window and realized that this was it. This was actually the end of it all. He had gotten what he had wanted, and more, but it was over now. He was on his way to San Diego, and Derek would stay in Beacon Hills, and they would probably not meet again, if not by accident. 

They were not exactly friends. They did not hang out. Derek had not left any kind of note to him, or even sent him a text; he had just quietly wrapped Stiles under the soft blankets, sneaked out of the room and disappeared. Granted, Stiles had not even expected him to stay. He wasn't even sure if Derek wasn't the one who was currently freaking out; it had been clear from the lack of experience – from the lack of lube and stretching – that Derek hadn't had sex with other men before. Stiles didn't know what Cora had told the poor man, but he sure as hell hoped Derek hadn't made this decision to fuck him just because his sister wanted him to try it out. He didn't want to be that someone who would always remind Derek of the worst decision of his life.

The plane landed and Stiles stretched his limbs. He still hurt a bit, but he didn't mind; he'd be glad to carry Derek's memory with him as long as the marks would last. 

As he got out of the terminal, he turned on his cell phone and searched for his father's number, intending to give him a call that he'd landed safely. Before he could access his quick list, though, his WhatsApp binged and a alerted him of three new messages.

Scotty-scott: _'I guess it was awesome. Not sorry I gave him your room number. He's smiling, dude. SMILING. And reeking of you all over. Urgh.'_

____

____

Stiles gaped and opened another message.

Lyds: _'Okay so your dad just punched Derek at brunch. And then they hugged. WTF is going on?'_

Stiles gaped even more.

Creepy-ass Peter: _'Just letting you know, in the name of equality between werewolf mates, I expect you to carry babies despite you're a guy. So make it happen, Sparky-spark.'_

Stiles, completely flabbergasted, tried to figure out what the hell was going on in his old home town when yet another message came through. He opened it nervously, biting his lip.

Haleicious: _'Stiles. We need to make a few things clear between us. Like the fact that we're now mates. So if you don't drag your ass back here next weekend I'll come over to SD and make you reconsider. With my tongue in said ass. ¿Entiendes, mi chispa?'_

Stiles looked up at the sunny sky and grinned. A few passers-by gave him curious looks, but he was too euphoric to mind. He tapped his answer to Derek:

_'Lo que quieras, mi Alfa. Soy tuyo.'_

Because he was Derek's. He always had been. And finally, _finally_ , his Alpha had realized to claim him.

Stiles decided to send something nice to Cora, even if she was a little hellion and would probably try and scratch his eyes out afterwards. 

With her claws. 

Just because.

 

End.


End file.
